


Downfall of the Wizard

by JamesTWarren



Series: Harry Potter DxD [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Highschool DxD (Anime)
Genre: Different father, Fallen Angel Harry, Hogwarts Era, fifth year au, possible angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:41:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25281055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamesTWarren/pseuds/JamesTWarren
Summary: He thought that he knew...He is the son of James and Lily Potter. He is a wizard. He is Harry Potter and nothing should be able to change any of that. That is until he met someone that turned his world upside down.Turns out there is so much out there that he doesn't know. Not yet.I do not own cover picture.Warning: Characters may be OoC.
Series: Harry Potter DxD [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1831564
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Downfall of the Wizard

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Highschool DxD, or any of the characters. They belong to their respective owners. Hell, I don't even own the idea for this story. Still, I hope that you enjoy the story and please don't forget to leave reviews.**

**Author’s Note: I am cross-posting this story on wattpad and FFN.**

Part One

The hottest day of the recorded summer began to wane and a reluctant silence settled on the street of Privet Drive. With the recent drought and subsequent ban on the use of hosepipes, the common afternoon activities had been brought to a stop. The sleak, shining cars stand covered in dust and parched grass, yellow and crisp, is lain instead of a lively, emerald-green. An entire evening of their gossip-mongering, halted, leaving the streets barren. Almost everyone took refuge within their homes, air conditioners on full blast.

One person however, can be found braving the intense heat, lying amongst the Hydrangea bushes of Number Four. If any of the neighbors noticed him, then they’d have recoiled in disgust. His appearance was a slight against the people that believed scruffiness was a capital offence. Trapped in the second-hand clothes of his cousin that was five times his size, his clothes hung off his scrawny frame. His round wire frame glasses were held together by sticks of tape, broken again thanks to Dudley stepping on them. And if he had a nickel for all the times someone, namely his aunt, commented on his “crow’s nest” for hair, he’d be set for life. The most distinct thing about him had to be the lightning bolt shaped scar that adorned his brow. The Dursleys loved telling people that he got it in the car crash that killed his drunkard parents.

Didn’t that cause whispers among the masses. Not that it mattered anymore. Harry had long since learned how to ignore anything they say. It was unimportant anyway. No, the important thing was that it was all false. None of them had any idea who he really was. The sad truth was that if they did, his life here would have been far worse. His neighbors, his aunt and uncle, it didn’t matter, they were all weirdly the same. Obsessed with being the perfect example of normalcy. They couldn’t stand it if something was different from them. And if anything dared to threaten their perfectly ordinary lives, then they’d make it pay. So it’s no surprise that they made his life hell.

No one, other than the Dursleys, actually knew what made him unusual. Yet, there was something about him, something that made him stand out to the crowd. And they didn’t like it. Everything, from the way dressed to the way spoke, it was all under scrutiny. He was different and they couldn’t accept that. It was all too easy for his horsey aunt to spill her, as they heard it, honey filled words. Confirming to them what they must have known by instinct. He’s a troublemaker, a delinquent, a true criminal in the making.

He’d never understood how his aunt and uncle’s minds worked. Not that he ever wanted to. They wanted to be seen as perfect; the perfect business man that married the perfect housewife. They even had the most perfect son, in their minds only. But would rather their neighbors associate them with a young criminal than ever learn the “horrible truth.” That their nephew, Harry Potter, is a wizard.

For years they did everything they could to keep this dark secret from not only the other residents, but from him as well. Not very well, he would think when looking back. So many strange things happened whenever he was stressed, angry, or scared. Things that had no reasonable explanation. Like when one of his teachers got mad at him and would find their hair was suddenly blue. Now, magic was the obvious explanation, but back then there was nothing. So they didn’t try. Instead preferring to punish him for every odd occurrence. Leaving him frustrated and curious; begging for answers.

Then, four years ago, he would finally learn the truth. A bittersweet discovery, no doubt. He’d been let to believe that his parents were wastrels. That they served no purpose and got everything they deserved. But no, no his parents were heroes that had given their lives to save the wizarding world. They’d saved everyone by defeating the darkest wizard of the era, Lord Voldemort. At least, for a time.

He’d soon come face to “face” with the man that murdered his parents. Voldemort, like Harry, had managed to survive that fateful night. Neither of them unscathed. Harry was left with his strange scar and the dark wizard? Stripped of everything. His body reduced to nothingness, doomed to roam the land as a wraith. Forced to survive by inhabiting the bodies of others and consuming the blood of unicorns. Until that June, Voldemort was a passing thought in Harry’s mind. Only appearing when things turned dire. But now, through the workings of dark magic, he’d returned, body and all. And in Harry’s opinion, he was more dangerous than ever before.

Barely a month gone by and not a single night of restful sleep could be found; if the dark circles around his eyes could be believed. Night after night he’d replay that terrible day. Again and again he’d watch as Cedric is killed, tossed aside like he was an ant in the way. Watch as Voldemort rose again to torment him to the joy of his followers. To watch as the shadows of his parents give themselves for him, again. It doesn’t stop.

If he couldn’t sleep, then he needed to distract himself. To find something productive, anything that would keep him sane. Yet it only drove him closer to the brink. He started scouring the Daily Prophet, trying to find some hint of what Voldemort was plotting. He found nothing, not even in the margins. Not even a sign that they were hunting the snake-faced bastard.

With no other choice he had turned to muggle news. Maybe he could find something there that others didn’t. He scavenged as many papers as he could from the trash bins without raising suspicion. He’d even tried listening to the daily news. Again, he came up with nothing. No mysterious disappearances, no poorly excused accidents, no anything. He’d hoped that today would be the day. That he’d finally discover...something. Sadly, his window of opportunity had been shut in his face, literally.

Uncle Vernon hadn’t taken well to Harry’s presence in the sitting room. Even more so when he disclosed his desire to watch the news. He’d found it too strange and abnormal for a boy his age to take interest in current events. So Vernon made it his mission to chase him from the house whenever the time for the first story grew close. It didn’t always work and once it started his uncle would settle down, but spent his time making snide comments about him to Aunt Petunia. To avoid dealing with him again, Harry spent a few days to find another way of listening in.

Luck had been on his side for once. Or maybe it was the obvious choice, no matter, he’d found the perfect spot. His aunt’s Hydrangea bush laid just beneath the window to the sitting room. He remembered spending hours working on it for her. Even better is that he remembered easily being able to hear the tellie through the open window. His plan was perfect. Too bad it relied on one key point:

The window.

He needed the window to be open. With it shut, the only things he could hear was a garble of muffled noise. The only way he’d hear anything now was if he pressed his ear to the glass, but that meant he’d be seen. He had almost groaned when his horsey aunt shut the glass panes. Only halted by his desire to remain undiscovered.

It was surprising. There were a number of things Harry could say about his aunt and uncle. Perhaps the nicest thing would be that they were frugal. They did not enjoy spending money where they felt it didn’t need to be spent. Caving to the demands of Dudley notwithstanding. Even in the most blistering of weather, they preferred to not run the “unnecessary” machine. Choosing instead to keep their windows opened to capture every stray gust of wind they could. He’d either overestimated their frugality or he’d underestimated just how hot it was. Either way his plan had been foiled.

It begs the question though? Why was he still hiding there if he couldn’t hear the news? His honest answer was that he just didn’t care to move. It really was a nice spot. Hidden away so that his relatives couldn’t find him unless they were looking straight down. Slightly better was that the bushes prevented their nosy neighbors from spotting him and ultimately informing Aunt Petunia. It wasn’t perfect, but the only way he’d be found was if…

“What are you doing, kid?”

_ BAM! _

...was if they were looking right at him from over the fence.

Harry winced as he rubbed where his head collided with the window sill. Then he froze. Harry cursed. There was no way that his aunt and uncle didn’t hear that. He could practically see them rushing for the window to chew him out.

A minute passed, but nothing happened. What?

“Don’t worry about them kid,” the man responsible for this mess said, “They left some time ago. Maybe they went upstairs for some alone time, eh?”

“Don’t put that image in my head, please,” he pleaded. Letting out a sigh he asked, “How long ago did they leave?”

The man hummed thoughtfully, “I’d say, about five minutes ago.”

Great, so he missed everything. Not that he believed any differently, but it frustrated him how pointless this whole thing was. Huh? Wait a second…

“You said they left five minutes ago?” he asked, the man nodded, “How long were you watching me?”

“At least fifteen,” the man said easily.

“That’s pretty creepy Mr. Gregory,” Harry said tonelessly.

The man looked at him balefully, “I thought I told you to stop calling me that. My name is Azazel and you will address me by my proper name.” Harry rolled his eyes at Azazel’s attempt at, as he calls it, “being a stuck-up, British noble.”

In related news, the impression reminded him vaguely of every Malfoy he’d had the displeasure of meeting.

Azazel Gregory was an odd man. When Harry first saw two weeks ago, the day he moved into Number Five, he’d pitied the man. Believing easily, that he had no idea what he was getting into. His tall, lithe figure and exceptionally handsome face stood out amongst the crowd. His two-toned hair, black with blonde bangs, narrowed the neighbors gaze to him. Their claws sharpened against him when he spoke with a decidedly non-british accent. He stood out, he was different, and he was foreign; he was everything the residents of Privet Drive despised. He wouldn’t last the week, that’s what Harry thought.

Three days. Three days was all it took to prove him wrong. Azazel didn’t just do well, he thrived. His handsome face and honeyed words more than enough to charm the women, married and single alike. His vast knowledge of business tactics and such made him a trusted member of the men’s inner circle. In only three days he’d calmed these people, all who were ready to tear him to shreds, and turned them into allies. 

Allies, not friends, Azazel would tell him. Friends are people you can trust to look out for you. Allies you can trust to look out for your shared interest. Didn’t make it any less impressive, given his own standing, and that’s after living here for fourteen years. Even Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had little bad to speak about him.

“Sorry Mr. Gregory,” He said politely, “But was there something that you wanted from me?” It was the only reason he could think of that the man would spend time watching him. As creepy as that sounded.

“You’re really not going to call me anything else, huh?” he asked drily, “Since when are teenagers so damn polite. But no, I don’t really need you for anything. I just happened to see you and thought I’d see how you were doing.” He chuckled, “Didn’t mean to make you hit your head there.”

“Oh, umm, well thanks,” Harry said, “I’m doing okay, I guess. Not too different from this morning.”

Azazel snorts, “Don’t look so awkward kid. It doesn’t suit you.”

It was Harry’s turn to snort. He couldn’t understand Azazel at all. He didn’t get why the man would go out of his way to talk to him. It didn’t matter if he was taking out garbage or making what seemed to be an important phone call. It didn’t matter to him; if he saw Harry, then he dropped everything. All to talk to him. Ask him how his day was going or just about anything.

It didn’t make sense. Why would he go out of his way to talk to him? They didn’t know each other before he’d arrived, so that was out. And he didn’t seem to be a wizard, not once did his eyes roam to his scar in awe. Hell, the only thing he said about it was that it was a “cool scar” when they first met. So why did Azazel talk to someone like him?

“Well,” Azazel’s voice drawled, “That’s boring.”

“W-what,” Harry sputters, “Boring? I mean, what? Would you rather that I wasn’t fine or something?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Azazel waved him off, “Kid, I’ve only lived here for a short while, and do you know what I’ve seen?”

Harry tensed, eyeing Azazel, not sure what to make of his question. There was something, knowing, in his voice. Just what had he seen? No, no, he was bluffing. Had to be. Nothing of interest had gone on in the last couple of weeks. Well, other than Uncle Vernon chasing him out of the house, but that was normal. He didn’t have any bouts of accidental magic. And the...oh...oh shite, did Azazel notice the owls. Not good. If he saw them, then Harry was going to be in major trouble.

“What I’ve seen Harry, is you slaving away at this ill-begotten garden,” he said, “A kid like you is in the prime of his life. You should be out there, enjoying all the best the world has to offer. Not wasting away here”

Harry gulped. Wasting away? Is that what he was doing? No, he was just...just...just what was he doing? 

“A young man like yourself should be surrounding yourself with women,” Azazel said, snapping Harry back to reality.

What?

“What?” Harry couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“Women, Harry, they are truly a gift from the big man himself,” Azazel said earnestly, “So many shapes and sizes. A world of bountiful, bouncing beauties, that is what awaits you!”

No, no, no. Please make this stop, he pleaded within his mind. Azazel was unstoppable once he got to talking about women. Harry could feel the heat rising in his cheeks thinking of Azazel’s numerous tales. Honestly, is astounded him that none of their other neighbors heard him with how vehemently he declared his love of the opposite sex.

“Now tell me!” Azazel said, “What type of girl are you into?”

“What?” Harry asked, his voice coming out like a squeak.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Azazel said, “How am I supposed to hook you up if I don’t know what I’m working with. A beginner like yourself doesn’t have the capacity to charm everyone. No, best to stick to your comfort zone. So we’ll start with your ‘type’ as it were.”

He was wrong; so, so wrong. His face was burning with mortification. He was pretty sure that he could feel steam blowing from his ears.

“So, come on,” Azazel urged, “Do you prefer them younger or older? Busty or petite? No, better yet, are you an ass or a breast man?”

“Stop,” he begged, his face hidden by his hand, “Please, just stop.”

“Fiiine,” Azazel said with a long suffering drawl. Acting as if it were some arduous task, “Ruin my fun why don’t you.”

If it kept him from having this conversation again, then he would do so gladly. Ugh, he’d never been so embarrassed in his life.

“I’m not kidding though, you’re too young to be wasting your time here,” he said, “But, if you don’t mind me asking, why were you hiding in the garden?”

Casting a quick glance over his shoulder, sighing in relief when he didn’t see any of his relatives had returned, he answered, “I was hoping to catch the news.”

Pole-axed, Azazel stared at him. It made him feel as if he were being held under a microscope. 

With a shake of his head, he recovered, “Okay, I’ve got two questions. First, why were you trying to watch the news. I mean, seriously, what kid  _ wants _ to watch the new?”

The temptation to tell him that he’d used up his two questions was hard to resist, but Harry wasn’t sure he’d appreciate the cheek. Most adults didn’t. With a shrug, he said, “I was checking on something.”

“Alright,” Azazel drawled, obviously skeptic, “Second, why didn’t you ask me?”

Ask him? About what?

His puzzlement must have been obvious because Azazel kept going with a roll of his eyes, “I mean, why didn’t you ask to use my TV? I certainly wouldn’t have had a problem with it. Father above knows that I barely use the damned thing.”

Harry is stopped short. He’d never been given such an amazing opportunity. He’d finally be able to learn something without having to deal with his uncle’s ramblings. He...he...he needed to stop himself. The offer was great, perfect in fact. Too perfect. If Hogwarts had taught him anything, it that if it’s too good to be true, then it probably is. It was best to turn him down politely.

“Thank you Mr. Gregory,” he said, “But I wouldn’t want to impose on you.”

_ AH! _

Harry hissed. Azalel having cuffed him; and right where he’d hit his head on the sill beforehand. “What was that for?!”

“For being stupid,” the man reprimanded him, “I’ll commend you for being careful though. Never know what kind of weirdos are out there or what they’d do if they got a hold of you.”

Harry snorted. He knew exactly what they would do. After all, the only people that wanted him, wanted him dead.

“But listen here,” Azazel said, his hand atop Harry's head and ruffling the younger boy’s hair, “If I say you can do something, then you can. Got it?”

Harry nodded, but kept his head down. Unable to look Azazel in the eyes. Strange, he thought. Why did he feel...good? No, he was just imagining it. He ran his hand through his hair, trying to brush away the phantom of Azazel’s touch.

“So, with your plans up in smoke, what will you do now?” Azazel asked.

A good question. He’d spent his entire day planning for this one moment. He’d suffered an endless day of chores. For hours he was forced to listen to his aunt screeching about how whatever he was doing was wrong. He answered to the barks of his uncle as if he were a dog. All of it to free up this small slot of time. Now, it was pointless. So what would he do?

“I guess,” he said, thinking it over for a few minutes, “I’ll head out for a while? Stretch my legs a little.”

Yeah. That sounded good. Maybe some fresh air, instead of the Dursley's toxic fumes, would help him clear his head. A shiver coursed through him. A true showing of what Privet Drive could do to someone, if just walking away for a bit made him this excited. Then again, he’d been so busy this summer that he hadn’t stepped a foot off the small street. Well, that and…

“Are you sure you can manage that?” Azazel asked.

A miserable sigh escaped him at his neighbors' amused tone. His excitement now gone, Harry had to fight so his body wouldn’t collapse right there. His legs growing weak and his frustration mounting. He could not deal with this.

“She’s watching me again,” he didn’t ask. He didn’t bother to turn and confirm for himself. Harry knew she was there.

“One could argue that she’s watching both of us,” Azazel pointed out, “But yeah.”

The phrase “speak of the devil” passed quickly through Harry’s mind. Was it irony, or a cosmic joke, that as he thought of leaving, his other problem made itself known? Mrs. Figg was a batty, old cat lady that lived on Privet Drive a few houses down. He’d known her for just over a decade, having been forced to stay with her on numerous occasions. 

Harry didn’t like thinking awful of her or calling her “a problem.” She was a nice woman, even if her cats drove most of the street insane, and he was genuinely thankful for all the times she watched him as a kid. They were without a doubt his fondest memories growing up. But this summer, she would not leave him alone. It was like she had a radar on him because every time she saw him, just as he was setting off for a stroll, she’d stop him to have tea. By the time he’d finished his drink and she’d finished talking about her dozens of furrballs; it was either too late to go anywhere or he lost any real motivation. Harry knew that he could decline her invitation, but she’d been good to him. Been there for him. He felt as if he owed her at least this much.

It didn’t do any favors for his patience though.

“So much for that idea,” Harry said despondently.

“Hmm, don’t be so sure,” Azazel said, his eyes lighting up with mischief, “Why don’t you let me help you out a bit.”

He’d almost declined right there. Annoying as it was, he could deal with Mrs. Figg, but… “How?” he asked.

Azazel’s grin grew “Easy, I’ll distract her and while she’s focused on moi, you can slip away.”

Harry hummed in thought. It was pretty simple, but maybe it could work. The success was entirely dependent on Azazel though, so he asked, “Can you do it?”

He’d never seen the man look so insulted, “Can I do it?” Azazel grumbled, a childish pout formed, “Kid, you’ve seen what this silver tongue of mine can do. I assure you, that little old lady won’t know what hit her. Now get out of here and, I don’t know, make some new friends or something.”

Is it wrong that he almost wanted her to prove him wrong. No, this had to work. Please work, he begged in his mind. His hope did not hold for long, ready to give up at Azazel’s first call of “Figgy.” He knew first hand she hated to be called that, having seen her tear into a solicitor for “daring to mock her noble name.” The insulted look she now held did not fill him with confidence.

From there on, he could only begin to guess what they were talking about. It had to be her cats because she went from insulted to delighted in less than three seconds. Complimenting her cats, a sure way into that woman’s heart. Oddly enough Azazel himself seemed absolutely ecstatic about something. Though, given the way he talked about his ability to charm others, he might have been faking it. Then, to Harry’s immense surprise, Mrs. Figg led their newest neighbor to her back garden with all the energy of a younger woman. What did Azazel say to her?

He was so dumbfounded that he almost missed Azazel’s smug grin. Almost. As much as he wanted to knock that look from his face, Harry would give him that one. If only because he helped Harry out.

Besides, Azazel just agreed to an afternoon with Mrs. Figg. With his spirits higher than they’d been in the past weeks Harry makes his way out of Privet Drive for the first time that summer. 


End file.
